


Dime Store Prophets

by action-cat (clytemnestras)



Category: Bandom, Empires (Band)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Multi, Polyamory, Roughness, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clytemnestras/pseuds/action-cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean sleeps more often than he wakes, lately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dime Store Prophets

**Author's Note:**

> I am officially blaming this on Van Vleet's ridiculous preoccupation with pseudo religious themes and voyeurism and therefore none of this is my fault. Like at all. Also I wrote this over two nights half alseep so.
> 
> Vaguely kinky threesome ahoy??

Sean sleeps more often than he wakes, lately. The show high lags faster and faster until his heartbeat hardly raises under the spotlights. Tom's shoulder becomes a welcome pillow when the bus shunts through midnight traffic, Max's jacket is a part-time blanket. Movements become sluggish and his brain gets swampy and things slip away before Sean can catch them.

Tom asks him, soft and sleep-rough on an early bus-call, the two of them bundled together in the bus lounge as Max wrangles coffee and Mike from the hotel bed - because Max is an angel with cherub's curls and demonic levels of cunning. Tom presses his face into Sean's neck, bones cracking at the movement, and whispers warmly against his skin, "You okay, man?"

And Sean doesn't have to ask. He yawns and pushes Tom's hair back off his forehead, mumbles, "Just tired."

"Old man", Tom grunts, and splays his hand out over Sean's chest, tips of his fingers pushing into the gaps between his ribs. They both slip under before Max steps back on the bus.

*

Tom has dark eyes. His eyes are dark and his lips are bruised and he looks like the lines of his body are draped with strips of shadow.

He's on his knees in the dark, light coming through slats and casting his skin too-white like chalk and bone and his hands are clasped in something like prayer. Tom is muttering small words, like please and save and promise, and his dark eyes are fixed on the curtain gap where Sean feels like he's hiding.

Tom's dark eyes are looking right through Sean, into the place where the light filters through and he screams please in a pain-sharp voice and Sean wakes up in a sweat soaked panic, Tom breathing sleepy and heavy in the hotel darkness.

**  
  
**

That's the other thing with the influx of sleep. Sean is dreaming, twice as vivid and with the sticky memorability he hasn't felt since the nightmares _Howl_ spelled out in vicious detail. Only he can't exactly turn his catholic kink wet dreams about _Tom, for fuck sake_ into the dirty hymns he wants to scream.

So Sean sleeps, and he sleeps and he looks Tom in the eye when they fuck around on his beat up acoustic. He pretends not to see Tom wielding his camera like a barrier where he can look past Sean's skin and not be noticed because it feels too much like guilt.

He forgets onstage, when he's dripping sweat and glory all over the crowd. Kids growl Hello Lover back at him like gospel refrain and it pumps back through him. Faith and adoration crystalise where sleep blurs and Sean sings into the ether feeling bloodwarm and alive.

Then he falls off the platform when the music dies around him, leaning heavily into Max's side. His band carries him off into the dark van and Sean is sleeping before the engine starts.

*

Max presses his forehead to the nape of Tom's neck, pressed up against the line of his back, soft against his sharpness.

Tom's eyes are squeezed shut and he quivers with at the soft drag of Max's fingertips over his sides. His plush, shiny mouth peppers Tom's back with kisses, flexing his shoulders like they ache, like the bones are meant to twine with feather and sinew. Tom groans, breaks on his whispered prayer. His back bows fiercely, and the curve of his throat catches the light, Max still stroking down his torso to chase the quivers away.

Sean makes a sound from somewhere in his chest and Max looks up, find's Sean's eyes in the shadow and blinks slowly.

"Sean, we have to go."

But they can't go. He wants to scream at them, dig his fingers hard into their skin so they can't twist away.

Tom opens his eyes, heavy-lidded and pleading, "Sean."

Somebody is gripping Sean's arms, flexing against his biceps, keeping him still as the dark swells and breaks around him, eyes straining against sudden light.

**  
  
**

"Sean, move your skinny ass before I use you as a battering ram on the closed Starbucks outside."

**  
  
**

Tom breathes down on Sean's cheeks, irises bluer for the tired red strain around his eyes and Sean jerks forward then back like the half-stuffed pillows can stop him pressing his mouth against Tom's.

"Fuck", he mumbles and Tom laughs, releasing his arms and grabbing his bag, tugging the ass of his sweatpants as he goes.

It isn't until the door clicks shut behind him that Sean pushes down the covers, staring at the way his boxers are straining and the sweat is gathered in his navel.

They drive off twenty minutes off schedule and Max slaps the back of his head hard enough to make a sound. He muffles his whimper into the sleeve of his hoodie.

*

The bus is rough as they drag through Nevada. Tom is curled up on the arm of the couch, tongue peeking from between his lips as he fires tour updates in Jon's direction.

"Send Jonny my kisses", Max calls over Sean's shoulder, where he's lying between his open legs. Vegas is a fitting venue for the glory of Sean's Special Hell.

Sean's fingers tangle in Max's hair, combing through and separating the sections ready for braiding. He hears the shutter sound of Tom's cell camera and Max turns his face, naturally rosy cheeks flushing brighter when he grins and Sean wants to wrap his arms tight around him and jam his face into the gap between Max's shoulders.

He keeps braiding, teeth set deep on the inside of his cheeks. Max relaxes back into him and Tom keeps taking photos of the two of them tangled together until he's crowded up close, whispering "Smile" lowly into Sean's ear.

He snaps one last picture of both Max and Sean grinning before wandering into the bunks and by the time Sean's finished on Max's hair he's getting drowsy again. They stop in traffic and he yawns into Max's neck. Max fishes the TV remote from the side of the couch and curls into Sean's side. His head presses into Sean's chest like it used to on the early tours, still so young and affection starved, and Sean rests his chin on Max's crown.

He falls asleep like that; light, dreamless sleep.

*

When they tumble off stage that night Tom is right there to catch him when his legs start to quiver. He wraps his arm around Sean's waist almost tight enough to bruise.(His biceps still have faint purple tinges from Tom's fingers and they still ache enough when he touches them to be worth it.)

Sean is only dimly aware of the move onto the bus and then again into the hotel room - didn't realise it was a hotel night at all  - but Tom holds him tightly the whole way up so that when they stumble into the room he almost pulls Tom down on top of him. The room is soupy and odd around him, like the ink has sodden through on a newspaper and he's so very tired, arms and legs aching to curl up and slide boneless into his exhaustion.

Tom turns and sits on the edge of the bed, leaning so their faces are lined up just perfect and his eyes are so sharp where everything is blurred and Sean thinks he wants to suffocate on shine in them.

"Seanny?" Tom's voice is so quiet, utterly gentle in the sharpness of silence between them and Sean doesn't know how to speak any more so he nods slow so his head can't roll off his shoulders.

"You got me worried, Van Vleet. It's like you're not here anymore." Tom's voice is so gentle it feels like it's tracing patterns on his chest, or its his fingers, maybe, Sean can't tell. "You're always sleeping", he whispers, "You're dreaming away this whole tour and you look at me sometimes - I, uh, have these pictures and your eyes, Sean. I don't -"

Sean nods again, leans forward just enough to press his mouth to Tom's and steal away his breath, then he's falling, falling, falling into sleep like waking was only a brief reprieve.

*

Max kisses the top of Tom's head. Says, "I have you." Says, "I'll save you."

Tom nods furiously, scrambles his nails up along Max's belly and the lower part of his chest, middle fingers barely glancing his nipples where Tom tries to hold on to him. Max kisses him again, runs fingers through Tom's hair and tugs just enough that Tom's head is pointing towards the sky.

"I'm not the only one here to catch you."

Tom sobs. Says, "Please." Says, "I need you." And Sean can't be sure that he's talking to Max. Can't be sure of anything.

Max's fingers drag along the soft definition of Tom's cheekbones, rub his jaw at the hinge. "He's almost ready now."

Tom kisses Max's palms.

**  
  
**

"Sorry."

**  
  
**

Sean wakes up and Tom is still beside him, face tucked into his throat, leg thrown over his hip and Max is in the doorway with liquid eyes and a small kind of smile and he turns away before Sean can re-teach his mouth to speak.

Tom snuffles something ugly into the skin of Sean's throat then blinks up at him, watery and tired.

"Hi", he says and brushes his hair back off his face.

Sean sits up, slightly, still in last night's clothes and Tom follows the movement. He smiles at Sean, still sleepy and vaguely confused and leans forward just a touch.

"Last night, do you -"

"I think I fucked up with Max." Sean is yelling, can't help it, thinks his ribs are going to crack under the strain of his heartbeat.

"Okay." Tom slides out of bed and picks his shirt up off the floor. "I'm going to find coffee, then we'll find Max and everything will stop being ridiculously weird."

"Here's hoping."

*

Sean falls asleep before Tom finds coffee. It's shallow sleep. He can still feel the sheets on his skin and the sunshine fall into his face. He feels the bed shift, turns to grasp for Tom and wakes up with Max peering down at him.

"Hi. Again."

"Hey, I. Max." Sean doesn't know what to do, really. He's sleep fuzzy and distantly scared, Max is the one who makes sense, fixes them up and Sean's feeling pretty broken right now. It's all he can do to barrel forward, press his face into Max's chest and let himself be held.

He doesn't know when Tom came back in, just knows that he's stroking along Sean's spine, knows that's his voice, grainy from smoking, saying "It's alright."

Sean pulls back, shivering slightly between two pairs of arms and he's just. Overwhelmed. He's jittery from sleeping and looking Max or Tom in the eyes feels like a confession of something and he wants them and he doesn't understand why it aches so fucking bad and nothing makes sense and -

"Sean, breathe, man, you need to calm down." Max pets his hair and that's so nice. They give him so much, more than he can ask for. So he can't ask for...that.

"Dude you have to tell us what's going on. You're sleeping eighteen hours a day then having breakdowns when you wake up and I for one am fucking terrified." Tom rubs his thumbs in brief circles along Sean's shoulders. "So tell me, what's wrong?"

Sean shakes his head and Max grips his fingers. "Sean you have to -"

"I want you." It's not a lie. It's not close to the whole story but it's not a lie.

Tom clears his throat and rubs his thumbs in deeper. "It's okay, man. I don't mind."

"No, fuck." He turns his head sharply and grabs Tom by the wrist. "You too. I want you both."

"Oh," Max says, tightening his fingers around Sean's, glancing at Tom's hands dragging over Sean's skin. "Oh, _Sean_."

"What?" There are hands drifting over his body and he's stuck between them both on a hotel bed and somewhere angels are crying with laughter.

"You're such an _idiot_ , God." Max untangles their fingers and cups his face, kissing him soft and slow.

"You guys?" He manages when Max pulls back and his voice come back. Tom's chin is resting on his shoulder and Max has pulled Sean's legs into his lap, rubbing his ankles.

"Mm?" Tom whispers, breath brushing his cheek. "So it's okay, that I. We can?"

Tom tugs Sean's earlobe between his teeth and Max grins when he digs his fingernails into the skin at Sean's ankles, five sharp points of pain.

"We've got you, Sean."

There's two dull thumps on the door, then Mike's voice; "Guys? We were meant to leave like ten minutes ago and the concierge is trying to kill me with his brain."

Tom laughs and tugs Sean to his feet. "C'mon dude we got a long night ahead."

*

Tom has his head thrown back, swallowing down on sounds he can’t stop making as Max sucks bruises into the skin of his throat and Sean can’t stay still this time, has to reach out and stroke down Tom’s chest. The skin quivers under his fingertips, muscles jumping in time to the drags of his hand over Tom’s stomach.

Sean leans forward, kisses the whimpers from Tom’s lips. He draws his fingers up and down, paints lines across his skin with the sweat. Max’s hands fit over Sean’s, curl them around Tom’s throat for a moment then tug Sean forward to kiss him over the taut lines of Tom’s body, kisses him breathless, senseless.

He can’t remember landing on his back, Tom strung out beside him, chest slick and throat splattered with red and purple, a bruised band around the whiteness of his skin. Max is above them both, his mouth swollen and eyes hooded. Sean can feel the way Max’s nails bite into his skin as they rake down his chest even as Tom dims out their surroundings, tongue dragging along the roof of his mouth.

They press him in, stuck between their soft skin and slick mouths. Max spreads Sean’s legs, holding his ankles tight and keeping him close where he might just float out of his skin. He presses kisses to the insides of his calves. Tom pulls Sean’s wrists up, held in one wide hand and hard enough to leave bruises and Sean can feel the tears burning at his eyes, prayer at the back of his throat. Tom kisses him again, bites down on his lower lip. Sean can’t open his eyes, again, can barely makes his lungs work.

“I have you”, Tom whispers.

“We have you”, Max whispers back.

He drifts like that for a long while, both of them anchoring him down, rubbing soft circles on his skin. Sean doesn’t even mind if he’s dreaming or awake - he still has this, either way.

 


End file.
